The Darkest Night
by BlackRaptor93
Summary: It was supposed to be a routine Hit. It turned into so much more. RATED M FOR A REASON. SWEARING, SEX, DARK THEMES.
1. Chapter 1

"So, remind me why we're trudging through the wastes to some dead-end shack in the middle of shit-all's vile?"

It hadn't been a pleasant walk for the trio of mercenaries. When they had left Fort Bannister what seemed like days ago on their latest job, requested by none other than Mr Tennpenny, spirits had been high at the prospects of a nice fee and a relatively small walk. However, after Hawk had bothered to read the directions and consulted her map, she had informed her less that pleased comrades that they were in for one hell of a walk.

Bull sighed, running a hand through his cropped black hair and looked over to the slightly smaller, mouse like mercenary who had spoken as they crested the next hill. His hands gripped his hunting rifle tight, going back to scanning the wastes before them. Aside from a pack of dogs and a rather angry radscorpion the trip had been rather uneventful thus far.

"For the last time Sabre; because it's what we do, it's good pay and to be quite frank I'd love it if you shut the fuck up for five minutes." Bull rumbled as Sabre glowered

"Yeah, well." Was all Sabre could think to say before the third member of the group, Hawk, piped up from her position behind the pair.

"I wish BOTH of you would just shut up. It's hard enough to keep watch, steer us in the right direction let alone put up with you two going at each other like a pair of Deathclaws." She growled, which immediately quieted both men. "Let's just get there and get this thing done."

Roughly an hour later they came across the group of small shacks that lay nestled on the slope of a rather steep gully not far from the river that cut the entire wasteland in two North West to south east. Far south it entered DC and somewhere there nestled Rivet City. Hawk scowled – that used to be her home before she was drafted into the Talon Company. It wasn't the best job, but she got a place to stay and some action once in a while so she was content.

She snorted as she slung her Assault Rifle and studied their contract while Bear amused himself by attempting to push Sabre down the bank. Hawk was the de-facto group leader, and she allowed them to look like dicks on occasion. It sure as hell broke up the monotony of sitting back at base or trudging through this hellhole.

"Damn it Bull! Fuck off!" Sabre snarled, batting the larger man away he scuttled up the bank and crouched beside Hawk.

"You sure this is it?" Sabre raised an eyebrow, scanning the group of shacks below, far down the hillside. "Come to think of it, why would Tennpenny, who lives way down there, give two shits about some backwater group of inbreds all the way up here?"

Hawk shrugged, looking to the shacks herself. Sabre had a point – why DID the old fart want someone here hit? Well, whatever the reason it didn't concern her, all that mattered was she got paid.

"To be honest Sabre, I don't know nor do I much care. But whatever the reason, it must have pissed Tennpenny off pretty badly enough he hired us. Last time he did that, remember Alpha Squad went out for the Lone Wanderer and never came back? Probably got shanked."

Bull finally joined in

"That was Mr Birkin, not Tennpenny." He grunted, not bothering to crouch down. "Anyway, this place looks deserted. Who's to say the target aint moved on?"

Sabre snorted "Tenpenny has guys all over. We'd have been notified if he'd moved on, just be glad he hasn't. When this is over we have a long walk back and I'm just glad it isn't any longer."

Hawk rubbed her temple slightly, sighing

"Alright, so we do this by the book. One per house, shoot on site. This should be a straight in and out job, you got it?" She looked to the others, sighing at Sabre "Don't say it."

Sabre sighed, standing up he started to jog down the hillside

"That's what she said." He grinned, earning a glare from Hawk as she and Bull started down after him.

When the plateau finally levelled out, the three Talon Mercenaries scanned the area with practiced ease. There were, conveniently, three shacks and each looked like shit (as most things in the wasteland did, people included). They were grouped close together and the trio where surprised that the ground wasn't mined or booby-trapped. Surely whoever the poor bastard who's cap was about to be punched would have at least tried to deter his assassins – but no such measures had been taken.

Bull moved silently across the ground with grace at odds with his size and kicked the shack door open. The wooden door snapped round and smashed against the wall so hard the entire structure shook. He scanned the interior – what he presumed to be the kitchen area was separated by a partition of flimsy wood that was starting to rot away. The interior was lightly decorated, with a stained mattress in the corner flanked by a wooden stool on which stood a radio. For it drifted a settling tune that blended into the background. No-one was home, and he could hear nothing. The effect of kicking the door open was to startle anyone inside into showing themselves, but there was no movement.

"_I don't want to set the world on fire..." _

Bull grunted – he was never the musical type. As he moved over to the radio, he forgot to check the kitchen – a rookie mistake, but one that would cost him dearly. As he leaned forward to turn the radio off he had the sickening realisation he had turned his back on the partition. He had a split second to comprehend something pressing in his back before with a dull thump the double-barrelled shotgun discharged.

At such range, even Bulls armour couldn't protect him. The full force had the effect of blowing a fist sized crater through his body that painted the wall above the mattress with his stomach, sending the hulking man sprawling into the stool and smashing the radio into pieces on the wooden floor and making the assailant grin.

As the big man lay face down on the floor, the killer calmly reloaded his gun and looked out of the open door. The other two shacks where out of site, but the noise would have alerted anyone else in the area, and he knew there'd be more than one.

Calmly he walked over to the door and pushed it open slightly, just enough so he could crouch behind it. In their rush to see what had happened to their comrade, even training gave way to emotion...

Sabre and Hawk both heard the gunshot and sprinted from their respective shacks

"Shit..." Sabre muttered as he glanced over to Hawk, who certainly looked calmer than he knew he did. Usually there wouldn't be any reason for this reaction from either of the Mercs, but they'd known each other (and been shot at enough) to know that wasn't what a hunting rifle shot sounded like. And there'd been no return fire, so best case there'd been a scuffle, the target had been surprised and missed. Worst case...

Sabre pushed the thoughts aside as Hawk stopped at the entrance, and he swore he could see tears in her eyes. Hawk NEVER cried for anything or anyone, not since he'd met her.

"Bull..." She whispered softly, her Assault rifle going slack in her hands. She took hurried steps inwards, crouching over Bull's corpse and shaking him like a child wanting their mother. Sabre stepped in after her and scanned the area – no movement, but the way he was laying meant...

Sabre spun round just as the door whipped by him, slamming against the frame. A figure, cloaked in shadow, stood up with fluid grace and before he could raise his rifle or even summon the words in his throat to shout a warning, blew Sabre's skull apart with a blast. The headless body toppled backwards.

Hawk spun round with a battle-cry and raised her rifle. She fired a burst but missed, the man having stepped aside and crossed the room before she could adjust her aim. She swung the butt of her rifle for his head but he raised a coated arm and caught it in his grasp, twisting it away from her with a flick of his wrist. Then a gloved fist collided with her face and her world went black.

Slowly consciousness returned. Hawk blinked through a teary haze and tried to move, but found her arms immobile. She shifted – so where her legs. Her head hurt like a bitch, and for a moment she couldn't remember why she was here.

As the fog lifted from her vision she craned her neck and looked around. Beside her was a set of wooden stairs that presumably lead to a trap door. She noted with worry that they where coated in blood but she didn't feel any pain besides her head so she assumed she was okay.

The sounds of sawing came to her ears and she looked around for the source, when it finally clicked in her muddled brain that she was stark naked. She blushed – she was a hardass, sure, but she was in a strange place, tied down (it looked like heavy duty chain, her wrists and ankles where starting to chafe. She was tied down to a bed, but this one appeared to have been jury rigged – the posts she where bound too appeared to be nothing more than support beams of crudely torn metal, and the mattress she was lying on was discoloured and worn, from what she could see.

Now the sawing stopped. The chains offered enough slack for Hawk to shimmy up into a rough sitting position and she almost screamed.

The same man from earlier – the would-be target – was at the opposite end of the basement, his back to her. He was dressed in a long black coat and gloves His weapon, a sawn-off double barrelled shotgun, lay disassembled on a work bench to his right. A long, thick mop of hair rolled down to his shoulders like the coat of a yao-guai and, much to Hawk's horror, she could pick out the unmoving form of Bull sprawled on the bench in front of the man. The sawing abruptly stopped as the man turned to face her, grinning. He placed a ripper on the bench beside his shotgun, not bothering to clean it.

His eyes and nose where hidden behind a mask that only covered up to his upper lip. His mouth was twisted into a sneer that turned Hawk's blood to ice, and his eyes that shone a bright blue flickered down her entire body head to toe, not missing anything. That made Hawk turn a brighter shade of crimson.

"Your friends," He spoke suddenly, making the woman involuntarily jump "disappointed me. You are supposed to be fabled Talon Mercenaries, capable of tackling any job. Yet they died no better than dogs. But they taste a whole lot better." He grinned darkly as Hawk's eyes widened.

"You sick fuck! You-"She got no further as with a growl he crossed the room and backhanded her with such force her vision exploded into stars.

"Do not." He snarled "Insult me. I do what I must do to survive, as do you." He immediately calmed down, brushing a stray strand of brown hair from her eyes, lovingly. She was shaking now.

"Please, let me go..." She whimpered as he sighed unhappily, wagging a finger.

"I am afraid I cannot do that. For one, you would simply come back in greater numbers. Over the years I have lured a great many people here, both for my own amusement and for food. Wild creature, edibles ones at least, are scarce around here as I am sure you noted on your way here."

Now it all made sense. The note had been delivered on the back of a trader, which, though suspicious, checked out in Tenpenny's existing handwritten notes. Now she realised it wasn't Tenpenny at all, not in any of those past jobs. It was this sick bastard to get more people to come.

Hawk's gaze wandered to her dead comrade who she could now see had been carved open with apparent skill. She'd never seen many people like this man work, but those she had did not match up to him in precision – he'd cut the best parts of him out like Brahmin. The thought made bile rise in her throat.

"Who... are you?" She asked finally and, after a long pause "And what do you want with me?"

"I am but a simple man trying to make my way in the world. You can call me Mort, my real name is not important."

"Mort?" She whispered

"In an ancient language it means death. Quite fitting, Hm?" The masked man spoke again, a soft smile playing on his features. He was evil, pure evil. Hawk had seen and met a great many cruel people in her time but none – not even the mercs themselves or those scum raiders – made her feel this way. She felt utterly terrified of this maniac

"As for what I want with you?" He whispered, his smile becoming sickening again "My amusement." He licked his lips slowly and Hawk screamed.

Outside, darkness fell.

Authors note!

Well, I'm officially a twisted person I've always had this idea, in varying stages, in my mind and finally decided to write it. This will be a series, though I'm not sure on how long it will be. Well, i hope I've fleshed out Mort and Hawk well enough, they'll be the stars of my series. This is rated M for a reason, as you got a glimpse of in this chapter. I'm delving into the depths of my mind to create my own memorable serial killer of Fallout, so i hope you stick along for the ride! Tell me what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

"**Do I need you?**

**Yes and no**

**Do I want you?**

**Maybe so**

**You're getting warm**

**You're getting warm**

**You're getting warmer oh**

**Did you plan this all along**

**Did you care if it was wrong**

**Who's getting warmer now**

**That I'm gone"**

**Misery Loves Company, Emilie Autumn**

Hawk had lost track of time long ago. She didn't know how long she'd been down in this basement, or the last time she'd even seen the sun. The only source of light came from small lights that hung in rows from the ceiling like victims of suicide. At first, she'd tried just that – she tried to bite off her tongue, hold her breathe, do anything to end this constant torment – but she couldn't go through with it.

Hawk was also never a junkie. Many in the Talon Company preached about psycho, jet, all the things that could cause a lapse of judgment and death on a job. From being a young girl, she'd never been tempted.

Mort had changed all of that.

At first he simply raped her, even when she begged him to stop. But as time passed, the psychotic killer knew he simply couldn't keep her tied down. Food was no issue, but other functions where. Instead, he decided to create a 'dependency net' of sorts, a reason that she would stay even when released. She was far too beautiful and useful to relieve boredom to simply trust her word (though many times she had pleaded to untie her, which she would not try to escape) so this was an insurance policy for sorts.

For this, Mort turned to Chems. He knew how powerful they would be in repeated doses to one with no experience or tolerance with them, and they would give her all the reason to stay with him. He kept his stores (which where useful also as bartering items) in a locked safe that was mounted in the far wall, rusted and worn.

She couldn't resist, and within a week she was addicted to Jet and Psycho, every waking moment consumed by her bodies need for the substances. When he'd gotten the desired effect, he untied her and allowed her to wander around a bit, but she'd always return from some corner of the dank basement to him, like a lost lover. In some ways he DID love her, a feeling he'd never experienced since his parents where alive, but that was many many years ago.

Sometimes Mort pressed the needle against her skin or held the inhaler just out of reach, taunting her with a grin. At this she'd swear at him, call him every name under the blazing sun just to be embraced in warm rapture. But, like a Yao-Guai on the hunt, Mort was patient – this wasn't what he wanted.  
Then she'd try to snatch it away and when that failed she'd punch him, hammer blows into his chest that he couldn't feel, before (and this never failed to get his pulse racing) she'd cry, reduce herself to begging, tears running down her beautiful skin and onto her heaving chest. She'd run to the bed and throw herself onto it, legs wide, offering him ever carnal desire he could imagine if he let her have her fix.

When he finally relented and pushed that needle into her skin and pushed the plunger down, her eyes would flutter and she'd moan quietly, the mortal world falling away as she drifted into the deepest parts of her brain.

Sometimes, Mort would be content to watch her, stroke her hair softly like a lover, gently kissing her as she squirmed in her own paradise. Other times he took her up on her previous offer and wouldn't stop long after the high had faded, until she had to beg him to stop.

---

Slowly, the world returned, as if waking up from a dream. For a second, Hawk didn't know where she was, the world a blur. She could feel a hand stroking her face lovingly, and remembered it was Mort. Hawk smiled softly, as she sat up, noting this time she still had all of her clothes on (though they could barely be called clothes, consisting of a lowcut long flowing robe) which certainly made a change. For a moment she wanted to reach out and beg for another high, her body shaking like a molerat cornered by a Deathclaw, before the shaking slowly subsided, for now.

Dawn reached up, Mort moving his hand as she tucked some of her long black hair (she had been blessed with naturally black hair and rather pale skin as a child, much to her friends envy) before she looked to him with bloodshot eyes.

"How long?" She asked quietly, eyes flickering around before finally landing on her tormentor's masked face.

"About ten minutes." He replied evenly, chuckling slightly as he got to his feet "You looked like you where enjoying yourself that time, my love." He smiled as he moved from the bed towards the bloody work bench in the centre of this section of the basement. In her exploration she'd realised the full basement lead under the entire plateau, but there was no access from the other two houses.

_My love._ Since arriving here, Hawks outright hate of this man had faded (though she also put that down to her reliance on him for drugs, which somewhat disgusted her – she had vowed never to reduce herself, let alone allow herself to be controlled by some fucked up cannibal), and she had, in her own way, began to relate to him. He, like her, was alone in the world and though she hated to admit it, she cared for him.

She didn't know why – hell, she'd gone from not even liking anyone and being the most badass merc in DC to a junkie almost overnight – but this man had... a charm. He was a madman and she should have hated him – she was a prisoner, a sex slave and a toy all in one – but she didn't. In the back of her mind, though she would never admit it to him, she reasoned she'd probably die for him. He kept care of her, and fed her well atleast.

Her response was a slight nod as she wrapped her arms around herself and drew her knees to her chest.

"Mort?" She asked quietly, as the masked man turned from where he was working by the counter, cocking his head.

"Hm?" He replied, before going back to whatever he was doing – probably cleaning his tools after the latest victim, a wastelander who had sought shelter in the house above and it had been no trouble for the man to dispatch him and drag him down into the basement to be cut up. Hawk has become much immune to this over the past few weeks.

"Why... why haven't you killed me? Like the others, I mean." She replied quietly, her voice shaky. Mort had a vicious temper, which he usually took out through the form of raping her viciously.

For a moment he tensed, and Hawk feared what he would do, but he finally turned to her and folded his arms across his chest.

"Because," He smiled softly "You are useful to me, both for pleasure and company." He cocked his head thoughtfully, as though he was about to say something else but decided against it.

She sighed softly, before she jumped as his voice cut through the silence again.

"Why do you not try to escape?" He replied with a soft chuckle "I am sure if you wanted to you could while I was sleeping, venture out into the wastes and try to get back to Fort Bannister."

_Because, in my own fucked up way, I love you. _She wanted to say, but settled on a much more believable reason.

"Because I no longer have a weapon and even if I did try to escape... my addiction..."

"Would bring you back here like a lost puppy." He finished with a soft, almost sweet chuckle, before he returned to his work.

Hawk took this time to get to her feet and wander around the basement – over the years, Mort had collected quite a bit of brick-a-brack from his victims and from traders who occasionally passed by this way (the next one was due sometime this week, Mort had mentioned). She allowed herself to get lost in the shelves – it was like a maze down here. One box caught her attention, however. It was not labelled and it was buried at the back of the basement in a dark corner.

Curiosity overwhelmed her and she opened it. Inside she found a small brass locket, connected to a dirty chain. She opened it slowly, and found a small inscription.

"So you'll always have a piece of me with you. I love you, never forget that." Two initials, H.K where carved at the bottom as she slowly put it back. This could have just been from one of his numerous meals, but something in Hawk doubted that. She wasn't sure what it meant, but for it to be buried so far back and in an unmarked box must have been important to Mort.

She decided to risk it and ask him about it. After she had (eventually) made her way back to the main area, she found Mort sitting on her bed, hands clasped together in silence.

"Mort?" She asked, stepping towards him he looked up, but didn't speak. She took this as a sign to continue

"When I was looking around I found a small... note, I guess, in one of the boxes near the back, and it was from someone with the initials H.K..." But she immediately knew she shouldn't have said anything.

Mort stood up, eyes blazing and a snarl on his face as he grabbed her by the arm and brutally pinned her against the wall near the stairs

"Don't you DARE mention that name!" He hissed violently in her ear as she suddenly felt him wrench her dress up and something press against her - he was going to rape her again. She whimpered, tears falling as he trusted brutally into her, his body hitting hers as he twisted one arm behind her back. She cried out, but let him do it.

"I'm sorry! Please!" She cried out, and for once, he pulled out of her. As quickly as the rage had come, it was gone. He almost – almost – looked regretful. Instead he said nothing and moved back over to his table, deathly silent as he composed himself. Hawk sat shakily on the bed, also silent.

Her stomach twisted as she realised she loved it when he got angry.

**AUTHORS NOTE: I hope you liked this chapter, i wrote it on a particularly stressful day, and i know it comes across in the perverseness, but as i warned you, its M for a reason! xD I hope you enjoyed it even so :]**


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